


Cloves

by yeaka



Category: Amnesia (Game & Anime)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 07:56:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20060629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ikki visits Kent at work.





	Cloves

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is just for the game Amnesia: Memories; I haven’t played the others or seen the anime.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Amnesia or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“My latest weapon isn’t finished yet.”

Ikki diverts his gaze from the polished surface of his table—a deliberate attempt to keep his eyes down and away from any nearby women that might fall under his spell—and looks up to see his server. Despite the striking uniform, sporting crisp white, red, and gold without a hint of green, Kent doesn’t look all that different than he does at the university, knee-deep in mathematics. He has his arms crossed over his broad chest, his square glasses pushed high up his nose, and his yellow hair in the exact same aimless style. His expression is blank, presence imposing just for his sheer size. Ikki can’t help the frown that brings. For Kent, he twists it into a pout.

“Is that how you’re supposed to greet customers?”

Kent lifts a brow, head cocking to the side. “Are you a customer?”

Ikki swallows down a joke about coming just to see Kent’s pretty face, because he belatedly realizes that maybe Kent thinks he showed up just in the hopes of more math problems. That’s not the case. Ikki has better things to do on a busy weekend than solve arbitrary equations, even if they do result in adorable interactions. 

Namely: visit entertaining cafes. He straightens up against the banquette and informs his server, “I’ll have a coffee in whatever style you think would please me most. Assuming, of course, that you plan to treat me like the customer I wish to be.”

Kent’s expression pinches. Another man might roll his eyes, but Kent merely exhales and recites, “Welcome home, Master.” He says it clear and precise—every syllable resonates with Ikki. Then Kent dips into an official bow, lingering long enough to demonstrate his submission, before he elegantly rises to ask, “How may I serve you today?”

Ikki’s definitely grinning wider than he needs to. It’s always a treat to be so doted on, but Ikki’s not used to that behaviour from men. From _Kent_. In a way, the formality suits him. It looks good on him. The uniform looks better. It covers just enough to be conservative, but the dark sleeves are rolled up his elbows, exposing a tantalizing stretch of skin. The high collar’s cinched in with a black tie that speaks of servitude, yet the gold trim screams _expensive_. If Ikki was rich enough to have his own butler, he’d be honoured to have one like Kent. 

He probably wouldn’t let them attack him with puzzles, but then again, if they were so open and frank with him as Kent—and no one else—is, it would be worth it. 

Kent prods, “Well?” And Ikki has to break out of his reverie. He opens his mouth to order again, but Kent rolls on, “Are you actually going to order, or did you just come to tease me?”

Ikki came to _see_ him, but teasing does sound better. “Can you blame me? I was just thinking about how dashing you look.”

Kent’s pale cheeks flush pink. He has no defenses that way. It’s dreadfully endearing. “What would you like today, Master?”

“Mm, say that again.”

“What would you like today?”

“The other part.”

Kent blankly stares at him, and Ikki stares right back, immensely enjoying himself. Kent likely thinks that ignoring Ikki’s cheekiness will make it go away, but it’s actually the opposite—Ikki enjoys Kent’s blunt reaction as much as having Kent serve him. He gets enough oohs and ahs in his life—Kent’s deadpanned, level-headed rebuttals are a refreshing change. 

Ikki basks in that until Kent presses, “If you don’t order, I’ll have to give the table to someone who will.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Ikki decides, “Very well, then. A plain coffee and a strawberry parfait with two spoons, please.”

Kent glances at the door and checks, “Do you have a girl coming?”

“No, a man, who’s hopefully having his break soon.”

Kent’s cheeks stain darker. “Ikkyu...”

“I think you mean ‘Master.’ Now, are the servers here allowed to give out their numbers?”

“You already have my number.”

“I know, but I’m suddenly feeling like earning it.”

Utterly red and even more attractive in his embarrassment, Kent informs him, “We’re not allowed to give out our numbers, no.”

“A shame,” Ikki murmurs, and he lets his lids fall half closed, blue eyes peering up at Kent from beneath his lashes. Any girl would swoon under that look, and his curse would have them in his arms within the hour. 

It doesn’t work on Kent. Which is ironic, because the longer Ikki contemplates the idea, the more he wishes Kent was the one person it _would_ work on. 

Kent lingers just long enough for false hope to bubble up in Ikki’s chest. Then he suddenly jerks away and heads for the kitchen, walk unusually stiff.

Ikki watches him go and looks forward to him coming back—hopefully on break and with a parfait.


End file.
